


Snowstorm

by InsaneHam



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Friendship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Illnesses, Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 11:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16618115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneHam/pseuds/InsaneHam
Summary: An awkward Thomas Jefferson and a tramuatized James Madison meet as children. Outside is a raging snowstorm. Bad decisions are made.





	1. First Meeting

“James, this is Thomas.”

James peeked out from behind his Mother's skirt, doe eyes taking in the dark skinned mother and son in front of him. Thomas favoured him with a reassuring smile, but it did nothing to ease James’ nerves.

“Aww, he's so cute!” Jane cooed, squatting down. “Way cuter than Thomas was at his age.”

“Mom!” Thomas protested, embarrassed. Jane waved it off with a light laugh, reaching towards the little boy. James squeaked and darted back, clutching the fabric of his mother's skirt tightly. Eleanor shook her head.

“My apologies, James is rather frail. I don't believe that would be wise.”

“Stop being such a stick in the mud, Ellie!” Jane scolded, though she straightened up. Eleanor's eyebrow twitched.

“I told you not to call me Ellie.”

“Yes, yes,” Jane agreed offhandedly, obviously not taking it to heart. “Sorry that Martha and little Jane couldn't come today. They had dance lessons.”

“It is alright. I don't think James liked them much anyway.”

Jane winked, bouncing on the heels of her shoes.

“Are the men all set up?”

“If you mean smoking, yes. They won't be out for another hour or so.”

“Great!” Jane exclaimed eagerly. “That means some girl time!”

“Oh,” Eleanor glanced over at the scared little James, ready to take flight. “I don't think that is such a good idea.”

Jane froze.

“What? Why?” she questioned demandingly, brows furrowed.

“James is sick,” Eleanor started, but Jane cut her off.

“James has been sick for his entire life, and although he's adorable, I can't let him keep ruining our girl time!” She turned to her son, eyes burning holes in his very soul. Thomas swallowed nervously.

“You'll make sure James is safe, right Thomas? You won't do anything silly.” 

His curly hair bobbed as he nodded. Jane smirked in satisfaction, taking Eleanor by the arm, ripping her away from James' grasp and leading her down the hallway.

“Jane-” Eleanor protested.

“Hush now, Ellie! It's about time you got a makeover! I bought this wondrous powder from Britain, it's guaranteed to…”

Jane's voice trailed off as they rounded a corner, leaving the two boys in the hallway. James' eyes were wide and alert, whole body shaking with fear. Thomas awkwardly smiled.

“Hello,” he said in an attempt to ease the tension. “My name’s Thomas Jefferson.”

If it were possible, James seemed even more scared, backing away slowly as if he was going to bolt for the door. Thomas mind spun. If it came down to it, he could probably catch him, but the child seemed so weak that a breath of wind might blow him over. Tackling him might worsen things. Plus, this wasn’t his home. The sickly kid certainly knew his way around here better than Thomas did. His mother would never forgive him if he managed to lose this tiny child.

“Please wait,” Thomas almost begged. “I just want to be friends. Please? My mother won’t be pleased if you leave.”

James eyed him warily, but he stopped moving backwards. That was good. He just needed to keep the conversation going.

“So… nice weather out today?”

Thomas mentally kicked himself. Beside them was an enormous window, snowflakes splattering on the tinted glass. Little bits of white swirled around in the air, enough to consider it a small blizzard. What on earth was he trying to say?

The child nodded slowly, choosing not to point out the snowstorm outside. For that, Thomas was eternally grateful.

“Anyways, what's your name?” Thomas asked. The child squinted.

“James,” he murmured, voice barely a whisper. 

“Pardon?” Thomas asked, taking a step forward to hear better. James jumped in fright and began shaking again, shivers only subsiding when Thomas backed off.

“James Madison,” he repeated louder.

“Nice to meet you, James.”

He extended a hand. James glanced between Thomas’ stiff expression and his gesture of peace before approaching. It was painful, how slow James moved. Like watching a turtle crawling towards its certain death.

Finally, James gingerly took his hand and gave it a shake before removing it from his grasp. But now they were within arms reach of each other, Thomas could examine him closely. For a dark skinned boy, James was abnormally pale; his mother had mentioned that James was born weak. Large doe eyes stared into his, giving the impression of a frightened animal. Somehow, he had lost all his baby fat, cheeks dangerously sunken in and ribs prominent. Since his mother was obviously quite doting, Thomas attributed this to his illness. Stuffed in a tiny suit, James’ head seemed too large for his tiny body, leaving Thomas to wonder how he managed to balance. His gaze passed over the used handkerchief in his pocket, and he couldn't stop himself from making a face. Gross. Still, like all children James had this undeniable innocence about him, unaffected by the world's problems. Thomas wondered if he had ever been like that.

“Are you with Jane and Martha?”

Thomas blinked rapidly, returning to the real world. James was regarding him with a careful eye again, prepared to run. 

“With Jane and Martha?” he repeated stupidly. James’ eyes flicked around the hall, as if expecting them to leap out of the walls.

“Yes, them,” James hissed breathely.

“They're my sisters. Why?” Thomas questioned curiously.

“They're devils,” James confided. “You're not with them?”

“No, they have dance.”

James sighed in relief, entire body sagging. Tension flowed out rapidly, reasoning the stress on his face. It was rather interesting to watch.

“Good, good.”

“Why are they devils?” Thomas may have his disagreements with his elder two sisters, but he'd never thought of them coming from the underworld before. James' tongue flicked over his lips.

“They try to give me makeovers,” James sniffed distastefully. Thomas choked back a laugh.

“Seriously?” Thomas grinned. James glared at him.

“It's not funny.”

Somehow the stern tone sent him over the edge, and he doubled over giggling. Every time he was about to stop, he saw James’ childish face promoting a disapproving expression, and it set him off again. Only when his sides hurt too much to continue and he lay on the floor, heaving for air, did James continue.

“It's really not that funny. At least not to me. Please don't laugh about it.”

Thomas straightened into a sitting position, slapping on his best apologetic face.

“Yeah, of course, sorry,” he babbled. “It’s just that I was wondering why they had stopped doing Makeover Monday on me.”

James stared at him with wide eyes, more surprise than fear.

“They did it to you too?”

“Oh yeah, I was their personal doll growing up. Their test subject for everything. Until recently.”

James plopped down right next to him. 

“Isn't it terrible? They chase you-”

“-and they catch you-”

“-drag you kicking and screaming to their room-”

“-and Martha holds you down while Jane applies your makeup-”

“-then they stuff you in a dress-”

“-and force you to walk around in it!”

Thomas shook his head up and down fanatically, reliving the traumatic memories.

“It's awful. Not all girls are like that, so why do they have to be?”

“They hunt me down every time that they come over,” James moaned. “I'm not a good runner, so they always catch me.”

“Better than living with them,” Thomas scoffed. “They'll ambush me anywhere.”

“My condolences,” James said sincerely. Both of them smiled at the other, having found an unlikely ally.

“My mom sometimes joins with them,” Thomas sighed, leaning back. “I think they get it from her, actually.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah.” Thomas settled on the floor, spread out starfish style, turning to look at James. “Doesn't your mom do that?”

“No,” James said slowly. “She doesn't.”

“Lucky.”

“But she also doesn't let me go outside.”

Thomas shot upright, nearly hitting James.

“She doesn't let you go outside?” he gasped.

“Yeah. My mom said that I have a weak body, and that I shouldn't leave the house.”

“So you've never been outside?”

“I have, once.” James squinted, as if trying to see some far off memory. “She dragged me in fast and gave me a scolding to boot. I've never tried again.”

“That's impossible!” Thomas’ eyebrows drew together, gears in his brain turning.

“It's possible,” James sighed. 

"Then what do you do all day?" Thomas inquired.

"Read," James replied dispassionately. "We've got quite a few books. I curl up with a good one every so often."

"Have you never wondered what the outside looked like?"

James scowled.

"Of course I have," he snapped. "But I can't. I'm always sick."

“That's not an excuse to avoid the joys of nature!” Thomas was suddenly hit with an idea and he jumped to his feet. James blinked up at him.

“What other option do I have?” James' defeated tone only emboldened Thomas to make his next suggestion.

“We're going to go outside, so you can see it!”

Thomas offered a hand to James. The little child took it uncertainly, allowing himself to be pulled up. Thomas retraced his steps back to the front door, snatching his coat from the hangar. On second thought, he handed it to James.

“What?” James asked, accepting the garment that was shoved into his arms.

“That's a coat,” Thomas explained. “You where it when you go outside.”

“Yeah, I know, but isn't this yours?”

“You need it more than me.” Thomas’ tall stature made it easy to tower over James, intimidating him. “Now wear it.”

“But-”

“Put it on!”

After much wrangling, Thomas fitted the piece of clothing on James. It was a couple sizes too large, draping over the little James like a cape.

“This'll have to do,” Thomas sighed. 

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Thomas waved it off. “Now are you ready for your first step into the real world?”

James’ mouth stretched into a smile.

“Yeah!”

“Let's go!”

Thomas turned the handle. The wind blew on the door, pushing it open. Together, Thomas and James stared at this winter wonderland, snowflakes dancing in the wind. White blanketed the ground, the trees, giving everything a clean, crisp look. The cold air rushed onto them.

Grinning, Thomas pulled James forward, towards the beautiful landscape that James had too long missed out on. Unfortunately, in his excitement, Thomas failed to notice the icy steps. They tripped, sending them careening into the snow. Thomas broke James's fall, positioning him underneath the sick boy and landing hard in the soft snow. Lightning shot through his body, mind registering the impact. Cold splayed on his back. His chest hurt, worsening with every movement..

“Thomas? Thomas, please, are you alright?”

Thomas only groaned. Pain blossomed throughout his body, especially his ribs, where James had landed on him. Every breath was another sting.

“Mama, come quick! Thomas needs help!” 

“James what's the matter - Jane!”

“Oh my gosh, Thomas?” His mother was by his side in an instant, cradling him. Her melodious voice drifted through the haze of pain. “Are you alright darling?”

“Mom, it hurts, please, make it stop,” Thomas wept. He couldn't bear it anymore, it was as if someone was ripping open his insides. Jane picked him up, only drawing another ragged sob out of him.

“It's okay Thomas,” Jane assured. “We'll get you safely inside, okay?”

“I'll call the doctor,” Eleanor volunteered, quick footsteps clicking as she moved.

“Mom? Jane? What's going on? What's happening to Thomas?” James' plaintiveness was obvious in his tone but no one stopped to explain.

Thomas was rushed to a room and set gently on a bed, but he curled up and groaned again. A soothing hand ran through his hair.

“Don't worry Thomas, it'll all be okay,” his mother reassured, voice cracking. Thomas tried to say something, but fog filled up his vision. His last memory was of a tear stricken James sobbing as he slipped into oblivion.


	2. Eleanor's doting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James explodes

“Are you cold James? Do you need any soup? Maybe another blanket?”

James groaned through the mountain of blankets laid on top of him. Soon he would be more at risk of suffocating than freezing to death.

“No, I'm fine.”

“Nonsense,” Eleanor scolded. “I'll tell the maid to fix you up some broth. That'll ought to help.”

“Really, I'm warm.” Seeing her next question on her lips, James added, “and I don't need another blanket.”

“Are you sure?” Eleanor sat on the edge of the bed, peering down worriedly at him. “We've always got more if you need any.”

“I'm sure.” James drew a hand out from beneath the mountain and placed it on hers. “See?”

Oddly enough, his fingers felt icy skin as they laid down. His mother was colder than he was.

“I'm just worried.” Eleanor pinched her lips together and glanced away. “You've never gone outside before. Especially in the middle of winter.”

“I know, and I'm sorry for worrying you.”

Eleanor leaned forward and placed a kiss on his curly head.

“Don't worry, James, I'll keep you safe. I'll tell Jane not to bring Thomas over again.”

A bolt of shock shot through him, and he struggled to sit up. Eleanor pressed him down.

“Now, now, you're going to tire yourself.”

“I was just curious,” James defended, relaxing. “Thomas had nothing to do with it.”

“He obviously did. There's no need to protect him, I know.”

“You're not listening!” James snapped, agitated. “He didn't do anything.”

“Then what was it James?” Eleanor returned, fist clenching the fabric of the bed. “The last time you broke the rules, you were four! What am I supposed to think?”

The words spouted from James's mouth before he could stop them.

“Maybe I just wanted to see what it was like! I'm a person too, mom, you can't keep me cooped up here forever! I'm not just your little doll!”

Eleanor drew back, shock and hurt registering on her features. A fleeting feeling of guilt rested on his chest before being overcome with his pent up anger. All these years of staying inside, watching, wishing, burst out in a tidal wave of words.

“I have free will too! Did it ever occur to you that I would risk it? Risk death, just to see what it was like? I just want to be a normal child! To play outside, just like Francis and Ambrose and Nelly and… and…”

James trailed off. Tears were streaming down his face. Sniffing, he wiped them away. His mother wrapped him up in a hug. His outburst began to take a toll, coughing racking his frail body. Eleanor only clutched him tighter.

“Please, mom. Don't take Thomas away from me,” James begged pitifully, coughs subsiding. 

“You've only met him once,” Eleanor reasoned. “And his sister's I'm fine with.”

“No,” James shook his head, particularly deep cough going through him. He continued in a hoarse voice. “They don't get me like Thomas does.”

“Well…” Eleanor wavered. 

“Please. He's the only friend I've ever made.”

Eleanor felt her heart melt as she looked down at her little boy. James’ wide eyes pleaded with her.

“Alright,” Eleanor sighed, defeated. A wide smile stretched across James’ face and he squeezed her tightly. “But next time I'm going to stay with you!”

“Yes, mom, thank you.”

A fond smile appeared on Eleanor face, and she pulled him in closer.

“Don't break the rules again, okay?”

“Okay,” James promised. They sat together in relative silence.

“How is Thomas?” James asked, drawing back. “Did the doctor say he was alright?”

Fear fluttered across Eleanor face, disappearing as quick as it had come, but James latched on to it. 

“Is he hurt?” James panicked, pulling on her sleeve. If Thomas was injured, then it would be his fault. They had gone outside for his sake, he had landed on Thomas’ chest. “What's happening?”

“No, James, Thomas is fine,” Eleanor assured. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” James pressed. 

“Thomas’ parents weren't too happy with the stunt he pulled. Last I saw, his father was screaming at him. And Peter can be quite frightening.”


End file.
